Drabbles, Oneshots, and Misfit Fics
by grimmfeather
Summary: Some short, some long, and some in-between--a random collection of Gintama fic based on one of the LJ 100 Prompts tables. Various characters/genres/ratings. Newest: 066. Four Steps to the Sunrise: the Joui 4
1. The Fallen Banner

Some short, some long, and some in-between--a random collection of Gintama fic based on one of the LJ 100 Prompts tables. I'm using these prompts to kick-start my summer writing, so please enjoy! See each fic for individual titles and warning/ratings.

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**Title:** The Fallen Banner  
**Prompt:** 023. Searching  
**Character/Pairing:** Sakata Gintoki  
**Rating:** T  
**Word Count:** 130  
**Warnings:** mentions of blood and warfare

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Gintoki stumbled blindly across the red-splattered wreckage of the abandoned battlefield, arms outstretched, the horrors before him blurring wildly into a garish kaleidoscope of black and brown and crimson, the colors fusing into one dizzying combination before shifting and swirling into unwelcomed, unrequited clarity. Gin didn't _want_ to see the carnage surrounding him, didn't need in the least to feel or hear the _crunch_ and _squish_ beneath his feet, didn't want to taste the acrid smoke that hung so heavily in the air. He stumbled, lost his footing, and struggled to rise once more, swiping mindlessly at the. . ._blood?_ trickling down his cheek. A heart-wrenching cry was wrought from his throat as a single crystal tear slipped to mingle with the dark crimson.

"_Zura! Where. . .w-where are you?!_"


	2. Watch Your Sugar Intake

**Title:** Watch Your Sugar Intake

**Prompt:** 090. Marzipan

**Character/Pairing:** Katsura Kotarou and Sakata Gintoki

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 1,167

**Warnings:** just beware of sugar overdose XD

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marzipan, n.: a confection of crushed almonds or almond paste, sugar, and egg whites that is often shaped into various forms

I somewhat adapted my own recipe. :D Enjoy!

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Katsura couldn't have told you the origin of the idea. He had never been one to willingly intrude on delicate social negotiations or knowingly burden himself with obligations to others that bordered on the frivolous—like birthday gifts, for one. Of course, Katsura took no issue with the act of giving or receiving gifts. That was the easy part. No, his problem lay in the selection of said gift, choosing and tailoring a certain object to the specifications most aligned with another person's wishes, hopes, or dreams for a particular year, indulging this one special person in his or her twenty-four hours of miniature fame.

_But how is it possible to express a year's worth of emotions in a mere annual gift?_ Katsura questioned himself time and again. He'd struggle for weeks up to the birthday date, agonizing over the appropriate embodiment of his feelings toward a particular person, wondering even after the bows and ribbons had been untied and discarded if he'd made the right choice.

_Shouyou-sensei always said I thought too much_, Katsura had grumbled to himself about a week ago, still knee-deep in his brainstorming.

And then it came to him suddenly one morning as he idly wandered the streets in his favorite space captain disguise (even the leader of the Jouishishi needed to get out once in a while).

_Marzipan._

As Katsura stared past his distorted, eye patch-garbed reflection in the window of a bakery in Kabuki-chou, a wash of childhood memories came flooding back. The memories cascaded easily over the dam Katsura had erected around the fond recollections in an attempt to shield those innocent days from the muddying swirl of the present and the dense fog of the future. Katsura's private reflection seemed to play out before his eyes in the panes of glass.

_A brisk autumn day, the fallen leaves of the maples crunching lightly underfoot. . ._ For young Gintoki's birthday that year, Shouyou-sensei had gone out of his way to plan something special. After the temple school bell had rung, signaling the end of the day's class, Shouyou-sensei had retrieved a small basket, tucked a blanket beneath his arm, and beckoned Gin, Takasugi, and Katsura to follow him away from the school grounds and a few feet into the wood beyond. Katsura recalled wryly how he'd clung to his sensei's hand, grimaced at his own childish yet ironic words _I'll never let go!_ that held more depth and grave foreshadowing than he had been able to comprehend at the time.

Nevertheless, Shouyou-sensei's smile hadn't faltered in the least, and he'd entreated Gin and Takasugi to stop their bickering and enjoy the walk. Not that they'd listened, of course. Katsura, being the goody-two-shoes that he'd been, had stuck out his tongue in their general direction. In response, Takasugi promptly poked Katsura on the nose, while Gin retaliated with a round of "Zura" name-calling. Shouyou-sensei, chuckling good-naturedly, was eventually forced to separate the three young samurai-to-be—Katsura on one side, Gin on the other, and Takasugi in the lead. Still, nothing could dampen their sensei's laughter, which continued to ring crystal-clear through the thickets.

Settled comfortably on the blanket under the eaves of the appointed tree, Shouyou-sensei had finally unveiled his great surprise. By this time, Takasugi was growing impatient and Gin's attention span was quickly fading. Katsura had simply watched his sensei's movements in wide-eyed anticipation, wondering what sort of secret the little basket could hold. In silent answer, sensei had delicately extracted three lumpy pieces of slippery paper from the depths of the basket and gently laid them out on the blanket. He'd taken Gin's small hands in his own and given him one of the three misshapen papers.

"Happy Birthday, Gin-kun," sensei had whispered, smiling gently.

Gin had taken the package and unwrapped it slowly, almost cautiously, revealing a sugar-sprinkled ball of dough. Takasugi and Katsura found similar treats placed in their own hands, and Shouyou-sensei had informed them that the little balls of dough were actually made of something called _marzipan_, a sugary concoction of almonds with, in this case, a sweet center of red bean paste and honey. No words were necessary for the three bright students to understand that these sweets were most definitely rare. . .and most likely expensive. They accepted them gratefully.

Even so, nothing could stand between Gin and his sugar. Within a moment, the curly-haired boy had declared these particular sweets delicious, and Takasugi and Katsura proceeded to experiment with their own. Though Shouyou-sensei had tried in earnest to refuse, Katsura had insisted that sensei should enjoy the sweets as well and had pressed a sticky gob of the stuff into his hands. Thus, the four of them, teacher and students, had wiled away a wonderful afternoon in the shelter of the leaves and the crisp autumn air, laughing and talking without a care in the world. Gin had later begrudgingly admitted that he'd never had a better birthday.

The vivid memory enraptured the present-day Katsura as if it had been just yesterday, as if those happy days had never been usurped by the haunting visions that came to pass mere months after that particular birthday.

Katsura suddenly shook himself out of his reverie, blinking several times in the bright sunlight and forcing the interior of the bakery into focus once more—only to come face to face with the prying eyes of one of the bakery's employees. Katsura shrugged off the employees' curious stares, supposing they'd been justified in their wondering what business a grown space pirate had in pressing his nose to the glass like a kid in a candy shop. But it was worth the inspiration.

So Katsura played hooky at the next Jouishishi meeting in order to gather ingredients, utterly baffling his subordinates, and slaved over sugar and red beans and almonds and egg whites, all with a singular goal in mind. The first batch was burnt, the second was crumbly, but the third time was, as ever, the charm. Rather pleased with his handiwork (though covered from head to toe in baking grease, spilled sugar, and smeared honey), Katsura hung up his apron and wrapped three of the sweets in a small package complete with silver ribbon. He donned another disguise and, whistling contentedly to himself, made the trip across town to deposit the anonymous parcel at the stoop of the yorozuya's door. Perfect.

_Now, if only Gintoki can remember. . ._

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Later that afternoon, the yorozuya trio returned from accompanying Sadaharu on his daily walk. Kagura, happily singing a slightly vulgar song (despite Shinpachi's efforts to the contrary) in a random key, was the first to enter, her giant pet prancing along behind her. Gintoki, trailing up the stairs in the wake of his companions, heard a distinct _crunch_ under Sadaharu's giant feet as the dog crossed the threshold. Gin took the last few stairs double-time.

"Oi, oi, _Sadaharu_! What did you step on just now? Don't 'wan!' me; that could have been important!"


	3. Listen to the Rain

**Title:** Listen to the Rain

**Prompt:** 039. Coffee Break

**Characters:** Hijikata and Okita

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 749

**Spoiler Warning:** ***_spoilers_*** for Gintama episodes 86-87

**Warnings:** unorthodox mayo, mention of character death

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One week. And the weather had been awful.

Exactly a week had passed since that fateful, stormy night—the night of Mitsuba's death.

Over the past several days and hopelessly long and lonely nights, Hijikata had shed his due tears under the useful guise of the super-spicy _senbei_ crackers—almost as if Mitsuba had relinquished them as a parting gift. They'd certainly come in handy, a lingering reminder of her gentle yet constant support through the years. Hijikata was well on the way to recovery from his physical injuries, but there was one wound that stubbornly refused to heal. Though Hijikata's heart still grieved for Mitsuba, he'd managed to cope with the immediate, harsh reality of fact, at least externally, and had assumed a strong face for Kondou-san and the rest of the men. . .not that it had been easy.

Sougo, on the other hand, was a different story.

Hijikata had observed the young captain fairly _haunting_ Shinsengumi headquarters—not crying, not sulking, not laughing, and certainly not smirking sadistically. Sougo's usual custom brand of caustic sarcasm and (seldom) good-natured humor had been traded wholesale for this entirely uncharacteristic, aimless drifting from room to room, his expression blank and eyes unfocused, gazing somewhere far off into the distance at something, anything. . .nothing. Not a single tear had been shed since that night, and that fact cut Hijikata the deepest, though he'd be loathe to admit it. Mitsuba deserved much, _much_ better. . .as did Sougo.

And frankly, Sougo's whole angst-filled act was driving Hijikata up a wall. Hijikata had never been one to muck around in all this touchy-feely business, finding such emotional baggage rather cumbersome and downright annoying. _Come at me with a sword, sure, it's an easy fix. . ._ At any rate, the dramatics had to stop. _Now_.

So Hijikata resolved to rectify his subordinate's situation, like any sensible fukuchou would. After a quick stop in the kitchen to acquire a few necessary items, he stalked off through headquarters to locate the first squad captain. Hijikata eventually stumbled upon Sougo, perched listlessly on the stoop overlooking the courtyard, head in his hands as he slumped slightly against a wooden pillar. He was staring absently out into the pouring rain and didn't seem to register the raindrops dripping lazily from the eaves of the roof, even as they fell on his head with soft _plunks_ and trickled down, weaving through the strands of his hair. Hijikata unconsciously braced himself for the worst.

"Sougo."

No answer, save the steady, reassuring _pitter_ _patter_ of heavy rain on a rooftop.

"_Sougo_."

Sougo clutched his knees to his chest, shivering.

"_Sougo_!" Hijikata shouted, dropping to his knees in an effort to achieve some eye contact. No luck—and he was getting frustrated. Hijikata laid the items gathered from the kitchen aside for the moment before reaching out to grip Sougo firmly by the shoulders and turn him bodily until his glazed, glassy stare met Hijikata's intense gaze. Sougo blinked rapidly, and the fog began to clear.

"Hi-hijikata. . .san?"

Hijikata sighed. "Yeah, who'd you think it was, the mayonnaise fairy?" he muttered grumpily. _The things I do. . ._

Sougo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh. . ."

Just as Sougo was on the verge of withdrawing once more, Hijikata seized the mug of fresh coffee he'd brought from the kitchen and thrust it directly under Sougo's nose.

"N-no, Sougo. . .wait. . .," Hijikata mumbled, looking pointedly in the opposite direction. "Look, just drink it before it gets cold, okay?"

_I'm really no good at this. . ._

Sougo accepted the steaming mug hesitantly—until his stone-cold fingers met warm ceramic and embraced it gratefully. A faint smile surfaced, and the rainfall began to taper off.

"Thanks," he said finally, voice already more confident.

Hijikata blinked in surprise, slightly embarrassed and honestly stunned that it had been so simple.

"S-sure," Hijikata replied, reaching to retrieve the other item he'd previously discarded—a blanket—with the intention of handing it to Sougo to ward off the chill. Midway through that course of action, though—

"But, Hijikata-san," Sougo pouted, the sly smirk too jeeringly evident in his voice, "I don't want _your_ coffee! You always use mayo instead of cream, and that's just disgusting. . ."

Hijikata promptly tossed the blanket in Sougo's face, turned on his heel, and stormed through the doors and back into the main building, Sougo's laughter chasing him through the halls.

_Oh, Sougo's back, alright. . ._


	4. Four Steps to the Sunrise

**Title:** Four Steps to the Sunrise

**Prompt:** 066. Barren

**Characters:** the Joui 4

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 411

**Spoiler Warning:** Perhaps for each character's background, but only if you know what you're looking for.

**Warnings:** mentions of battle and death

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_Four_.

One is intoxicated with the desire to seek revenge, twisting knots and tangling strings as he beckons the country ever closer to her own demise, ever tantalizingly closer to the edge, this pitiful country that deserves death in payment for her own treachery. Long-since numb to the pain, he yearns for the day when the ruinous, smoldering ashes of humanity's failure will stretch out barren and bereft before his eyes, the day when he can at long last allow himself to fade away from this hollow existence.

One is content to pursue his dreams among the stars, skillfully laying the groundwork for peaceable relations where his forerunners have failed miserably. He is his country's first line of defense, and he will ensure the prosperity and safety of his country and her people, continuing to gently fuel the delicate flame of her independent spirit, lest it flicker and be snuffed out under the suffocating grip of the invaders, plunging the country into a darkness barren and devoid of hope. He will sail toward a brighter horizon, setting an example for all who wish to follow.

One is mocked and brazenly tormented by the sight of the country and way of life he cherished lying in disgrace amongst the ruins, a barren shell of her once and former glory. He mourns her defeat and swears to guide her toward daybreak once more, a victorious change for which he is willing to stake his own life as he defends her honor with his dying breath. In the midst of the smoldering embers, though, he's discovered a new reason to fight, a new reason to wield his sword, and a new reason to live—he must protect his country's people and the ones he holds dear.

One is haunted by the dully burning memories of barren battlefields, fallen comrades, and the shifting shadows that hound his steps. He clenches his fists, the bitter tears fall, and he solemnly vows to never let those he treasures slip through his fingers ever again, to shatter in a glittering scrap of memory. He will protect those he loves, those before his eyes and within his sword's reach, no matter the cost. He will carry the burden of his country's people and bear the responsibility for making amends—but this time, he will daringly forge his own path.

Together, they can change the world for the better—apart, they will watch helplessly as it slips through their fingers.


End file.
